


Extra Blankets for the Cold

by el_em_en_oh_pee, smutty_claus



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Community: smutty_claus, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-20
Updated: 2011-12-20
Packaged: 2017-10-27 14:01:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/296624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/el_em_en_oh_pee/pseuds/el_em_en_oh_pee, https://archiveofourown.org/users/smutty_claus/pseuds/smutty_claus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tracey Davis thinks she has it all figured out, at least until some shocking news from her past is revealed. Growing up is complicated, she realizes, as she fights to figure out the truth about who she is and where she really fits into her world.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Extra Blankets for the Cold

**Author's Note:**

> Written by el_em_en_oh_pee for the Smutty Claus exchange.

  
**To: lilithnaamah  
From: Your Secret Santa**  


> **Title:** Extra Blankets for the Cold  
>  **Author:** [el_em_en_oh_pee](http://el-em-en-oh-pee.livejournal.com/)  
>  **Pairing:** Tracey Davis/Theodore Nott, Tracey Davis/Miles Bletchley  
>  **Summary:** Tracey Davis thinks she has it all figured out, at least until some shocking news from her past is revealed. Growing up is complicated, she realizes, as she fights to figure out the truth about who she is and where she really fits into her world.  
>  **Rating:** NC-17  
>  **Length:** ~11,300 words  
>  **Warnings:** Very, _very_ slight infidelity.  
>  **Author's notes:** Happy holidays, lilithnaamah! You asked for plotty and full of dialogue, and I tried to deliver. I really hope you like this :) Thanks go to my lovely beta, A!

 

"Sweetie, you _must_ tell me why you broke off the engagement," Daphne says, cutting her banger neatly into bite-sized pieces and sampling a bite.

Tracey doesn't even consider telling the truth. Around a swallow of porter, she says, "Oh, come on, Daph. You know this. Because Miles couldn't clean up his act and I have a job to keep. It would look quite bad if someone in MLE couldn't even get her own husband to abide by the law."

"Yes, a job that consists of representing _Muggles_ , Merlin knows why you'd want to do something like _that_ ," Daphne points out. "If I went into MLE I'd at least want a notable position, like Auror or something."

Tracey shrugs. She doesn't know how to explain the discovery she'd made about her true father – his identity – so instead, she takes a large bite of a chip and chews. Daphne is a peach, but a peach who wouldn't let something like that go lightly, and now that Tracey can't protect herself behind the reputation of her world's most notorious criminal mastermind, she needs to exercise more caution. "It's what I've been assigned," she says, simply, and Daphne leans forward in her seat, lips thinning, but Tracey changes the subject before Daphne can make whatever comment it is that she's about to make.

+++

Mummy has been firecalling people all day, asking if Tracey can play with them when she's at Mungo's to get Tracey's little baby brother or sister from the stork shop. Joshua will be taking his exams at Hogwarts, so Mummy doesn't need to find someone for him to play with.

Tracey doesn't know why most parents won't let their children play with her. Mummy says it's because she was pregnant with Tracey for thirteen months, because she was so sad when Tracey and Joshua's daddy died that she couldn't give birth after a normal amount of time, and everyone thinks that it's weird, but Tracey doesn't get why that means that _she_ doesn't get friends to play with.

Mummy turns to Tracey and says, "Honestly, I don't know why I bother."

"You can find someone, Mummy," Tracey says, biting hard on her lower lip because she's pretty sure it's about to start quivering. "Maybe someone from tutoring. I like Theodore."

A look flashes across Mummy's face, one that Tracey doesn't understand. She presses her lips together. "I'd hoped not to turn to the Notts," Mummy whispers, and goes to pour herself a drink from the juice bottle that smells like cleaner, the one that Tracey's not allowed to drink from, before settling back in front of the fire.

+++

Three weeks later, the baby starts coming, so Tracey gets to throw a handful of Floo powder and state "Nott Manse" and step into the fireplace with her overnight bag. When she gets to Theodore's house, he's waiting by the fireplace and breaks into a grin when he sees her. "Tracey," he says, puffing up his chest. "Welcome to my home."

Tracey sticks her tongue out at him and says, "Bags your toy Cleansweep," dropping her bag on the ground because Theodore has a _house elf_ , which is very cool.

Theodore frowns, but struggles for a moment and smiles like a grown-up would. "Be my guest," he says, seriously. "Follow me and I will show you where it is kept." 

She knew he'd let her fly it – Theodore is her best friend and has been ever since they figured out that Tracey's initials are T.E.D and Theodore is sometimes called Ted, so they basically have the same name. Even though Theodore doesn't like to be called anything but Theodore, because nothing else is proper enough. 

Later that night, Tracey and Theodore eat really fancy food with real silver forks and, and the ghost of Theodore's great-grandfather floats near the fireplace and tells them stories about when he was fighting the Boers down in South Africa, back when he was a strapping lad, about the spells he used to sow the earth with salt. He teaches Tracey the words to a naughty spell that will cause an entire small house to burst into flames – Theodore already knows it. After dinner, Tracey and Theodore play-act at war, Tracey brandishing a swell spear crafted out of a tree branch, Theodore with a sword made of a twisted coat hanger. 

"You're not like the other children at tutoring," Theodore tells Tracey as they collapse on a horsehair couch to catch their breath. "You're really interesting." 

"Thanks," Tracey tells him, rubbing her tummy where it hurts from laughing so hard. "I like playing with you, too." 

+++

Tracey is _totally_ excited to start at Hogwarts. Her little sister, Sara, keeps toddling around the house, biting things and forgetting to use the toilet, which is super gross. She gets her wand (willow, nine inches, phoenix feather) two weeks before the train departs for Hogwarts, along with several brand-new sets of robes. Her mum surprises her by getting her a new set of scales and dragon-hide gloves, saying, "Sara can use your tutoring stuff when she starts in on that; a girl starting off at Hogwarts should have a new set of supplies." 

So when Tracey boards the Hogwarts Express, she does so proudly, pulling her brand-new belongings behind her in her mom's highly polished old trunk. On the train, she starts looking for someone she knows – the Patil twins, possibly, or preferably Theodore – when she feels an arm settle around her shoulders.

She twists to see who it is, but doesn't recognize the face of the boy attached to the arm. "Uh, hi," she says, slowly. "I'm Tracey Davis."

"I know," the boy says. "My mum's told me about you. She and your mum used to be friends. I'm Blaise Zabini, by the way."

"Oh," Tracey says. She hasn’t heard anything about Blaise Zabini or his mum before, but bites her lip and refrains from mentioning that fact. "Right, hey."

"I want you to come sit in my compartment," he says, self-importantly. "I hear you're the good sort, and I'm sure we'll be great friends."

Tracey looks around the corridor quickly, but she doesn't spot Theodore, so she nods. "Lead the way," she tells Blaise, and allows herself to be guided into a compartment further down the corridor.

+++

When Nott, Theodore is Sorted into Slytherin, just like she was, Tracey grins. She pats his arm as he sits down beside her, making a mental note to tell him how excited she is about them being in the same house when the Sorting is finished.

But then Zabini, Blaise is Sorted, and he sits down on her other side and puts his arm around her and announces to the table at large that between the two of them, he and Tracey know all the tricks in the book about breaking hearts and kicking arse, plus a cornucopia of devious hexes to boot, so everyone else had better just watch out for the two of them, and that, along with the way that Theodore scoots slightly away from her after Blaise says all that, just leads to her sort of, well. Forgetting her plan.

The thing is, she knows that Blaise is right, at least in some regards. She got the Sex Talk a few months ago, and quickly figured out that it was impossible for Joshua's daddy to also be hers, considering that Edgar Davis died about a year before Tracey was born, so… obviously her mum knows about finding love in other places. She's also figured out that most people aren't going to look too kindly on the fact that she is what many would call a bastard child, which led her to the conclusion that she just wouldn't tell anyone the truth.

Blaise apparently knows it, though, so she comes to another conclusion right then and there: Blaise is a good person to keep around.

+++

Six weeks into her first year, Tracey lands detention with Blaise and Daphne Greengrass, a crazy girl in Tracey's dormitory, for fighting. By the end of their stint pruning plants in Greenhouse Two, Tracey has learned several things: She actually enjoys pruning plants; Daphne is not actually _that_ crazy ("I guess you're not so bad, Davis," Daphne says, after Tracey pulls her hair hard and kicks her in the shin for calling her mom a trollop – admittedly a neat word, though altogether not quite nice – and then telling Daphne that if she uses that word again about Tracey's mum, Tracey will tell everyone - _especially_ her brother - about how Daphne totally and obviously has a crush on Joshua Davis and probably wants to marry him. Tracey hadn't realized that her threat had the ring of truth behind it until she saw the stricken look on Daphne's face, but she's honestly relieved. Gossip is ever so much more of a useful tool when it has weight than when it doesn't); and she never, ever, _ever_ should go back into a greenhouse again without some good cleaning charms in mind.

She sits down next to Theodore at breakfast the next morning, interrupting a conversation with Draco about her detention to pass Theodore the salt when he asks for it. She tries striking up more of a conversation. He isn't very responsive, however:

"How many inches do you have on McGonagall's essay so far?" she asks.

"Eight," he responds, shaking the salt over his potatoes and then putting it back on the table.

"Yeah, I'm at seven right now but I think that I know where I'm going with the rest of it," she says. He doesn't respond, so she tries: "Are the potatoes any good?"

"They're a bit bland," he says, shortly, taking a bite and angling away from her.

She drops the conversation and turns to Draco instead, asking about a letter he's just received from his mum and ignoring Theodore right back.

+++

In Hogsmeade, Tracey sneaks her first cigarette, sharing drags with Daphne in an alley behind the Three Broomsticks. She coughs harshly, but only once, and when the fag is gone, they share another, reveling in the sensation of smoke passing through lungs, the high of the nicotine. Tracey tells Daphne about the way that Miles has been _flirting_ with her, and they marvel over the fact that a _sixth-year_ is paying so much attention to a fourth-year as Tracey Vanishes the smoke they exhale. Daphne uses a perfume charm when they're done, and they head out into the main street with no one the wiser, giggling at getting away with the act.

They're passing in front of Zonko's when Daphne bumps into Theodore. He glares at Daph, and Tracey is about to smile apologetically when he glares at _her_ , too, so she freezes and makes a point of jostling against him as she walks past him. 

Daphne laughs harder once they're almost out of earshot. "That _boy_ , I _swear_ ," she says. "He's so creepy. I honestly don't understand why he's in Slytherin; he's _so_ not good at the politics."

Tracey remembers eating pasties with Theodore as they wandered the Wizarding shopping district in Bristol just before Christmas, pointing out all of the cool gadgets they'd buy as soon as they were old enough to spend their own money and then cuddling together in a booth in The Green Dragon, swapping sips of Theodore's hot butterbeer and Tracey's cinnamon hot chocolate, and says nothing.

Later that day, when most of the House is sleeping off their Honeydukes indulgences, Tracey gets out her Gobstones set and starts playing a singles game.

"You know, that game is meant to be played with more than one person," Theodore says, settling down on the couch across from her.

Tracey considers ignoring him, but there is literally no one else in the common room, so she sticks her tongue out at him instead. "You know, there's more than one way to play Gobstones."

"I forgot; you _would_ know that," Theodore says, and Tracey bristles at the reference to her brief stint as head of the Hogwarts Gobstones club, which she has since written off as a brief madness and/or possible possession by one of Hufflepuff's ghosts.

"At least I have some hobbies," she retorts. "You know, apart from skulking about outside of buildings and being antisocial."

"Mmmm. Some of us have better things to do than completely wreck our lungs."

" _How did you know about that?_ " Tracey says. "Were you _following_ me? How typi-" but she cuts herself off, because she knows better, she really does. However much she doesn't protest the way that Theodore's become the scapegoat of their year for his eccentricities, she can't just ignore their past.

"All you lot hide it in the same exact way," Theodore says, picking at a hangnail. "Honestly, the smell of that perfume charm is even more nauseating than the smoke."

Tracey prickles. "Whatever, _Theodore_ ," she says, wrinkling her nose. "Maybe that's just because we're friends. Which I'm sure you wouldn’t know anything about."

"Oh, wouldn't I?" Theodore asks, rolling his eyes. "Yes. I have absolutely no idea what it is like to have a friend. I have zero friends. Lackaday."

She's aware that he's being sarcastic, really she is. But that doesn't stop an ugliness from welling up inside of her, and practically before she knows it, she's snapping, "Exactly! You're a lame lamer who has absolutely no friends! And it's entirely all your own fault. I mean, just look at how you completely wrote me off, Theodore. We used to be friends, or so I thought, and now it's like, you're this person who forgot that I am a person who exists!"

Theodore's eyes flash, and his tone turns ice-cold. "Well, Tracey Elaine, as it so happens, I used to think that you'd turn out to be an interesting human being, but as it turns out, really you're just a simpering fool."

She slaps him. She actually stands up, walks over to where he is sitting on the couch, and slaps him. There's a shockingly loud cracking sound when Tracey's hand connects with Theodore's cheek, and her palm tingles painfully when she pulls it away. Silently, she scoops up all of her Gobstones and pours them into their pouch, not even blinking when one squirts on her hand. She wipes her hand off on her robes as she stalks out of the common room. When she looks back – just once – Theodore is still sitting on the couch with a hand pressed to his cheek. She can't interpret his expression.

+++

At the Yule Ball, Miles Bletchley kisses Tracey against the wall just outside of the Great Hall. His mouth is hot with the Firewhisky that the older Slytherins shared before the Ball began. She dances with him and with Draco – despite Pansy's glares - and with Blaise in turn (but mostly with Miles).

During her last dance with Draco, Theodore cuts in, silently catching her after Draco whirls her out. Draco and Theodore exchange a significant Look. It's the only time in Tracey's memory that she can remember Draco backing down.

"Bletchley's a tool," Theodore says, as he dips Tracey deep.

"So are you," she points out, and Theodore chuckles.

After a moment of dancing in silence, he adds: "You really are a feisty minx, aren't you?"

"Wouldn't you like to know," Tracey says, lifting her eyebrows at him – she hasn't quite got the hang of lifting a single brow yet. She suddenly takes the lead, waltzing Theodore backwards. "You gave up the privilege of knowing when you gave up my friendship."

"Is that what I did?" Theodore asks, quietly, and Tracey can't think of a response, so she just twirls away from him, curtseying out of courtesy, before going off to seek out Miles again.

+++

During her fifth year, whispers start up again about how the identity of Tracey's dad is a total mystery.

She simply smirks at everyone whenever it comes up, saying stuff like, "At least my family history is _interesting_. I don’t have to memorize the stories behind a hundred tiny portraits on my family tree and regurgitate them for my granny at family events, _Draco and Daphne_. I can focus on actively cultivating my future as international woman of mystery instead." Nevertheless, she sends an owl to her mum the Saturday after she first hears it:

_mummy,_

_you've been insisting for years that joshua and i have the same dad but that's impossible, yes? i don't expect you to tell me who he was if you know after all these years, but i'd just like to know for sure, so i know what to tell the people around me. i know sara's going to have the same thing when she gets here, so i'm sure it wouldn't hurt to instill a healthy sense of avoiding the subject among the students here!_

_blaise sends his regards, and miles,_

_love,  
tracey_

The reply comes on a day that is abnormally frigidly cold for October:

_Tracey Dear_

_You are Correct; your Father is not also Joshua's Father; I've been meaning to Sit you Down to discuss this for a while now. However I have Balked at the act as I have no intention of Telling you who your Father is; nor should you Try and Divine this for yourself – it is better for both You and for Me if any further Truths should come out._

_Enclosed are some fresh Sweets I have made from your Gran's recipe; don't hesitate to share them with your Friends._

_-Your Mother_

Well fuck, Tracey thinks after she reads the letter for the second time, and goes off to the library to badger Madame Pince for access to the school's backlog of Witch Weeklys and society pages from the year of her conception and subsequent birth.

There are approximately nine hundred thousand pages of rumors and Witch Weekly issues and blind items from 1979 and 1980 in the library (or so it feels), and since they're not exactly what anyone could call _scholarly_ , or even _minimally useful to education_ , being both old and gossip-based, no one has bothered setting up a cataloguing spell or a phrase locator for any of the documents, so every day that she doesn't have a prior social or academic commitment, Tracey holes herself up in a back corner of the library, by a window in a comfy chair by a secluded desk with the pile of papers in front of her, slowly going through each of them, searching for clues.

Theodore runs into her the day that she's reached roughly the halfway point in the pile. Tracey fully expects him to just walk on by without comment – that seems to be his method of dealing with her again – but, to her surprise, he slows down and looks back as soon as he passes by her, then drags a chair over and sits next to her at the desk.

" _What_ are you doing with all of this… stuff?" Theodore asks, gingerly lifting an old issue of Witch Weekly between thumb and forefinger, looking at it as if it might be printed in toxic ink. "Isn't this gossip a little… old to be useful for you?"

Tracey rolls her eyes at him exaggeratedly, then sighs. "Not for my current… endeavor," she says, matter-of-fact. "They're quite useful to me now."

She watches his face as the implication of her words sinks in. It's fascinating, really; at first he seems completely bewildered, asking, "But what could – oh," and as it dawns on him, there's a flash of sadness – pity, maybe – before a mask of neutrality essentially slides over his face. "Your father."

Tracey lifts a shoulder in response. The part of her that used to love Theodore dearly and trust him with all of her secrets – the really, really young part of her – desperately wants her to just blurt out everything about the search so far, but the older, wiser Slytherin in her is reluctant to give someone that she really isn't close to anymore that much personal information. After all, she hasn't told Blaise or Miles, and they're her best friend and maybe-boyfriend, respectively. And if she can't tell them… well, then Theodore obviously should be out of the picture. She settles on saying, "Mmmm."

Theodore lingers for a moment, his mouth working, and Tracey waits patiently for him to speak. Eventually, he says, "So why are you all the way back here?"

Rolling her eyes extravagantly at him, Tracey says, "I like this part of the library. It's quiet." And maybe, _maybe_ some of their old connection is there, because he nods once, tersely, and she just _knows_ that he understands she only told him a half-truth.

"I see," Theodore says, and he lingers another moment – a moment too long – before walking on his way.

+++

There's nothing in the papers. Tracey is disappointed, but unsurprised, and she lets the issue fall to the back of her mind while she fights through studying for her O.W.Ls

It's completely fitting, then, that she stumbles across her first real clue when she's not even looking for it: when looking for a bottle of ink in a more interesting color than black or green, she finds a picture in the bottom of a sticking drawer in her mother's study. Her mum looks young, laughing, her arm around a man with Tracey's eyebrows and impish lips, naturally curved into a crooked smile. "Amanda + Arnold, 1979" is scrawled on the back of the photograph in lead, the letters pressing faint-but-noticeable ridges into the paper.

There's one peculiar thing about this picture.

It isn't moving.

+++

Tracey is reluctant to look any further, after she finds the picture. There's something so… _insidious_ about a picture that is closer in nature to – she can barely even think the word _Muggle_ \- pictures from people who aren't wizards than pictures from the world she's familiar with.

She chain-smokes half of a pack of cigarettes outside the Hall of Open Records in Bristol's Wizarding district, trying to get up the nerve to go and see if her father's name is listed on her birth certificate, only stopping because she sees Theodore's mum out of the corner of her eye and, well, yeah. She really doesn't want her being here to get back to anyone she knows, and what with the weird schoolyard animosity between her mum and Theodore's – not to mention the weird place that she, herself is with him at this now – it just makes sense to stuff the cigs in a pocket on her robes and head toward the Floo to go home.

It takes her the rest of the summer and almost a full carton of Muggle cigarettes (which, well, she can concede that they're better than cigarettes from her world, but that might just be because Muggles haven't yet perfected a way to keep the smoke from wrecking her lungs and she finds the posed threat refreshing) to get up the nerve to actually go inside the Hall of Open Records and look up her mum and, when that turns up nothing, herself.

It's obvious from the dust that no one has looked at this record in fifteen years, but there's a name: Arnold Fitch. She doesn't recognize the surname, which… doesn't exactly bode well, as she's made a point of learning the names of the big pureblood families in Britain – it's _useful_ information more often than not – so she hexes the paper to say: Father's Name: Undisclosed before putting it back and running out of the Hall.

+++

Of course, this doesn't mean that her father definitely _wasn't_ pureblood. Or that he definitely _was_ , well. A ---

Tracey absolutely cannot think the M-word. She cannot allow it to percolate into her mind. It's not possible for her to handle that thought pattern.

She goes to the pub next door and bribes the bartender into keeping her in firewhisky boilermakers even though she's still technically underage. The beer is hoppy and pale, a local brew she hasn't had before. It gets the job done – she starts feeling properly tipsy after her second rink – but it tastes absolutely terrible.

"Much like my life potentially is," she muses, and she doesn’t realize that she's speaking out loud until she hears a voice behind her saying her name.

"That's me," she says, turning around to see Draco. She frowns. "What are you doing in Bristol?"

"I don't live _that_ far away, as the broom flies," he says, smiling wanly, eyes shifting across the pub like he's looking for someone.

"Mmmm. Right. Wiltshire," Tracey says, giggling as she tips her third shot of whisky into its accompanying beer and takes a long swallow. "That is the place where you are from and it is not terribly distant from here as long as you don't have to walk. Like Muggles." She giggles again, but this time it's forced – she said the M word. What if her suspicions show in her face? Draco is a good sort, but he wouldn't understand. He wouldn't stand for it. The majority of Slytherins are pureblooded, and no one mentions if they aren't. So… the Sorting Hat could probably tell, right? She wouldn't be where she is now if the Sorting Hat found mud in her blood. Right?

"Are you drunk?" Draco asks. He looks around the pub again, so Tracey looks, too. Has someone figured out that she tampered with records? Are they just waiting to take her to task for it?

"Yup, sure," she tells him, taking another long drink. She giggles yet again – she is _so_ stealth about her paranoia. At least, she didn't _see_ anyone lurking in wait to address her actions when she glanced around, but…

She glances around again to make sure. Yeah, no one's there. Good.

Draco nods, fidgeting with his hands. "Right. Well, Tracey, um. I, e r, don't think that you should be here right now. It's not a very savory place, is it? And I just think it would be better for you to go home."

"I'm _not_ going there," Tracey flashes back – because really, how could she face her mother when she has these concerns? Her mum would totally see through any farce. Also, Tracey is pretty un-sober, and her mum might not take too well to that, either.

"Well, okay," Draco says. "But you shouldn't be here. It's not full of many nice people."

"You're here, aren't you?" Tracey asks, raising her glass to him and draining half of what's left.

"Look," Draco says. "Do me favor, please. Finish your drink and then go to a park and, I dunno, watch some ducks. Have a pasty on me. Just… don't be here."

"Well, fine," Tracey says, pouting. "If that's the way you're going to be. I'll leave before your kinky dirty sex rendezvous arrives or whatever." She tips back the last of her drink and drops a couple Galleons on the bar. "See you in school next week or whatever."

Flooing home makes Tracey incredibly nauseous, so she pukes in her mother's favorite vase. Serves her right, for all of the confusion she's caused with her sexual partners.

+++

It's halfway through the school year that Tracey finds undeniable evidence that her father was, in fact, a – well. Not a wizard, and not even a Squib, but the other thing. It's stupid, really – Tracey is sitting at the breakfast table, glancing through a letter from Miles and not really paying attention to the conversation, when Daphne gets a package wrapped in old Muggle newsprint ("I'm pretty sure my sister meant it as a gag, guys"). When she rips the paper off, a piece lands in front of Tracey, and there's the name "Arnold Fitch" and a picture that looks like the man she saw in her mother's photo, and not only is the man obviously a, well. A Muggle, but he's a fucking _lorry driver_.

Which – shit.

Tracey crumples the paper in her hand and, when no one is looking, slips the paper into her bag before stalking off to the loo, where she proceeds to cast _Incendio_ on it and then flush the ashes down the toilet.

On her way out, she runs smack-bang into Theodore, who gives her a once-over and smirks. "Running late, are we?"

Tracey stares at him, a million thoughts running through her mind, ranging from _Oh Merlin, you utter arse, get out of my way_ through _I am_ so _not in the mood for a conversation with you_ to _I miss us_ before she settles on _You just volunteered yourself to be my confidante_. She grabs his wrist and pulls him into the girl's loo, locking the door behind them when they're both inside.

Pressing her wand against his chest, she says, "Right, so you're going to swear an Unbreakable Vow that you won't tell this to _anyone_ , _ever_ ," and waits for his shallow nod before casting the spell. There's no third to do the actual casting, so she uses a modified version that Blaise taught her, one that is quite a bit darker in nature and use primarily to cause total submission in enemies. Which – Theodore isn't, not really; he's just someone who used to be a friend and who is now going to be the person she tells about her deepest and most dangerous secret and who is going to keep it on pain of death.

She casts the spell. After the blood-red sparks of magic sink into Theodore's flesh in a way that looks rather painful, Tracey casts a silencing charm and leans back against a sink. "So."

"What the fuck is this about?" Theodore spits, rubbing his wrist hard. "There is nothing you could possibly say that would necessitate these measures, Davis. Nothing whatsoev-"

"My father was a fucking Muggle lorry driver," Tracey interrupts, speaking around the massive lump forming in her throat, and although saying that out loud makes her feel like she's going to vomit _everywhere_ , she takes perverse pleasure in the way his facial expressions go from angry and self-righteous to completely horrified.

"I stand corrected," he finally says, after licking his lips a couple times and several false starts. "That is definitely news that would probably completely wreck your reputation, standing, and safety from our peers." 

"Right," Tracey says. She turns around to punch the wall, then takes a deep breath before turning back to him. "Anyway, don't feel so special that I told you. You were just the first person I ran into after finding out." 

"Oh, so you would have told Miles?" Theodore asks, voice icy. "He would have dumped you in a flash. Blaise? Trust me, honey, you'd lose Blaise's protection the minute he found out your mother soiled her lineage with Muggle trash. There's a difference between taking many lovers and taking _dirty_ lovers." 

Tracey wants to slap him so, so hard, but she balls her hands and lets her nails bite into her palms, deep enough to draw tiny beads of blood. "Don't you talk about my mother that way," she snaps, because – well. Theodore is right. She knows the consequences of the truth. People in the common room have been speaking more and more boldly about Mudbloods and half-bloods and blood traitors and how they should be purged, and – well. If people knew the truth, it wouldn't be pretty for her, that's for damn sure.

(She's been saying those things, too, hoping that if she was so vehemently against people with dirty lineage, it would turn out that her father was actually a pureblooded foreigner. Or something.)

(If she's being entirely honest with herself, Theodore hasn't joined in on those conversations. She thought he was just being a creepy loner again, but obviously, some part of her hoped that he also didn't share those anti-Muggle feelings enough to _tell_ him.)

She does _not_ like the expression Theodore has, because it is painfully obvious that he pities her. He. _Pities_. Her. "Sorry," he says, and she has to dig her nails into her palms all over again, because she wanted – well. She doesn't know what she wanted, but it wasn't this.

"Shut the fuck up," she says, cursing the way her voice wavers. The way that Theodore steps forward and folds his arms around her and draws her close to his chest.

"Tracey," he murmurs. He kisses the top of her head, just one quick light brush of his lips against her hair. "I wouldn't tell anyone, even if you didn't force that wicked vow on me." He falls silent for a moment, arms tightening around her briefly, and she contemplates pushing him away but ends up doing nothing but standing there, feeling his arms around her, her hands bunching into the fabric of her robe.

Theodore clears his throat eventually and lets her go. "Anyway," he says, cocking a grin at her. "At least you're interesting now."

Tracey punches his arm, but it's pretty feeble, as far as punches go, and he just winks at her, so she smiles back at him. She still feels completely, totally, one hundred percent shitty about this situation, and she is – quite honestly – livid at her mother and her mother's questionable choices. But somehow, as Theodore ushers her out of the loo, she feels just a little bit lighter. And as they walk out into the corridor outside, she can't help but wonder if this means they're going to be friends again.

+++

At the end of the year, Dumbledore dies, and the common room goes crazy. Tensions have already been running high, what with the Death Eater activity throughout the year, but, due to the Headmaster's draconian policies against that kind of self-expression at Hogwarts, people have been restraining themselves from true mischief. The night that rumors of his death reach the Slytherin common room, however, liquor flows as easily as talk of the chances that You-Know-Who will seize the opportunity once and for all. Somehow, some students who have already left Hogwarts, including Miles, show up in the common room not long after they hear the news. They're pulled directly into the festivities.

Tracey gets completely smashed on gin gimlets and fucks Miles for the first time, trying to block her ears against her friends' talk about their plans for the future. She has no love or respect for her father, but she does have a tendency towards self-preservation, and she does her best to hide her true fear about the future from her peers.

After Miles comes, he falls asleep, and Tracey passes out not too much later.

The next morning, nursing a hangover, Tracey walks out to the lake. There's a bitter wind blowing, appropriately enough, even though summer has almost arrived.

She's sitting on a rock, shivering because she didn't think to bring a cloak with her, when Theodore walks up and passes her a steaming hot sausage roll. "Thought you might be here, Davis. I brought you breakfast," he says, gently.

Tracey takes a big bite, burning her tongue as she does so. "Draco show up yet?" she asks, mouth full – her memories from the previous night are pretty dim, but she knows that Draco was gone for the entire party.

"I haven't seen him," Theodore says, and he puts an arm around her shoulders. They stare out at the lake together for a while, before Theodore adds, "Things are going to get pretty fucking hard for you, aren't they? If You-Know-Who actually…"

"Mmmm," Tracey agrees. "I mean, I don't plan to tell anyone, obviously."

"Obviously," Theodore agrees. "That would be a terrible decision."

"Yeah… Well. Even with just the knowledge… Things are going to get scary, Theodore. I know I don't have the absolute best poker face out there."

Theodore pats her arm. "You got this, Davis."

"You think?" Tracey asks, pinching off a bit more of her roll and eating it.

"Yeah, I do," Theodore says. He picks up a rock and hefts it in his hand for a moment before skipping it across the lake. They watch it skim the surface five times before it sinks. After another moment of silence, Theodore adds, "Tell you what. If things get really bad, I'll ship you off to live in Mongolia until it all blows over, one way or another."

Tracey laughs until she snorts. It really, _really_ is not that funny, but… she needs to laugh so that she doesn't explode. She's really incredibly lucky that Theodore keeps out of politics. She has the distinct impression that anyone else would have completely written her off after she told them about her dad, at the very _best_. "Thanks, Nott." She starts eating the roll with renewed vigor. When it's gone, she leans against Theodore. "Why are you being so nice to me?"

"Told you," he says. "You're so much more interesting than you used to be."

"Yeah, sure, keep your secrets," Tracey says. She stands up, dusting off the back of her robes. "I'm headed back. You coming?"

Theodore looks conflicted, but he shakes his head. "Think I'll sit here for a little longer."

"Suit yourself," she says, and starts the trudge back up the hill.

+++

"Why do you spend so much time with Nott now?" Daphne asks. She's using her wand to curl her hair with this nifty new spell she's learned while Tracey braids her own hair into two tight pigtails.

Tracey fumbles her braid and has to finger-comb it out and start over again. "What do you mean?"

"Well, he's around you quite a bit." Apparently satisfied with a curl, Daphne moves on to shaping her fringe. "Are you cheating on Miles? I know long distance can be hard."

"What? No!" Tracey is honestly shocked, so much so that she blusters a bit before grabbing at the first response that comes to mind. "I don't know, he's like, totally weird and just following me around and stuff, I don't know why. I guess that he's finally realizing that he needs some friends, what with all of our professors this year and how they like to teach – " She quickly switches gears. Daphne's been known to bitch about the Carrows occasionally, but you seriously never know who could be listening in Slytherin, or who might report what they heard for a little reward of some sort. "Er, yeah. Anyway, I'm probably the best bet for him, because we were friends when we were kids." She forces a laugh. "It's dumb."

"Yeah," Daphne agrees. "I don't even know why he's in our house, honestly. He's creepy enough to be in Hufflepuff."

Tracey chooses to finish her braids and tie them off, rather than respond. "Anyway," she says. "I better get to Dark Arts before they start handing out detentions again. See you at lunch?"

Daphne nods vaguely, and Tracey makes her escape.

+++

The thing is, Tracey needs school to be over. All of her energy is going into pretending like she doesn't have a secret that could place her as the new biggest target in the castle – the Slytherin with a _known_ Muggle father who's been lying about her true blood status for years. Which means that she throws herself into the "education" that the Carrows provide, down to the use of _Cruciatus_ against students in detention.

And the other thing is, Tracey has gotten so conflicted, in so many ways. Over the summer she snuck out to Muggle Bristol and did a lot of observing behind the security of a Disillusionment charm, and the thing is – well. She still hates that part of herself, but a lot of it is that she hates the lies that are all tied up in it, the need for secrecy.

It doesn't help that Theodore keeps making her think that it's _okay_ that she's got this dirty heritage. He just doesn't understand – his family is one of the oldest Wizarding families in the country, and they can trace their lineage back to the Sumerian disciples of Enlil, if not earlier. She's just got a mother who took a lineage that has only been recorded off-and-on since Chaucer started keeping track of such things and threw it under the Knight Bus with a romp with a Muggle man. The Notts are as pure as pure can be; the Davises have always been considered new to the game, not entirely up to snuff. And now this. It's not okay.

It's not.

But Tracey refuses to let it be used against her, so for now, she passes as pureblooded and tries to think of ways to use her father's identity to her advantage. Certainly if You-Know-Who loses, but surely there's something else.

And then, after everything is said and done and You-Know-Who is put away, she finds the usefulness of her true heritage. She's still not ready to tell most people, but a few choice words here and there, and, well, certain things get sorted out.

+++

"So how did it go?" Theodore asks. They kiss each other's cheeks before sitting at the table. They're in Bristol again, at a little café by the river. She's distracting herself from the knowledge that Miles is out there, risking life and freedom in order to pull some silly little heist in the name of quickly getting a comfortable lifestyle, rather than going about it the old-fashioned way.

The idea was actually Blaise's – he'd mentioned how he wished someone they knew would go into MLE so that some of his more questionable activities would go, well, unnoticed, but he couldn't think of how anyone from their House would be permitted to work in law enforcement until some very particular things were forgotten.

But Tracey had a certain leg up. "Well," she tells Theodore, lighting up a cigarette and blowing smoke away from him on her exhale. "I'll need to rise through the ranks a bit, obviously, but I am definitely on track to assess crimes against Muggles."

He grins at her, then sobers a bit. "You're sure that you didn't want to, say, go for an Auror position?"

"Too much training," she says. "I am _so_ done with school. Anyway, hit witches have less paperwork."

Theodore laughs, signaling a server over. After they've ordered, he says, "So… this means you told your new boss, right?"

"Clearwater? Yeah, I did."

"Does this mean -?"

"I'm _not_ going to be telling anyone else, Theodore Nott," Tracey snaps. She takes a deep breath, willing the panic at his question to settle down, before quirking a smile and calmly adding, "So you're still under your Vow. Don't think you're getting free too easily."

"Oh, I have no intention of trying," Theodore drawls, leaning back in his chair, which – okay, Tracey's not entirely sure what he means by that, because the way he said it makes her think he meant more than what he actually said. After a beat, though, she blinks and shrugs and changes the subject.

+++

Miles proposes the night that Tracey gets promoted to head a squad, the day after her twenty-second birthday. She says yes, and ends up calling in sick the next day so that she can recuperate from all of the, er, _celebrating_ they did all night long.

They're at an office party in her department – everyone is watching Miles quite closely, as rumors are spreading that he's the one behind all of the forgeries entering the market and ruining the values of artwork all over the country – when Abbott, that soft-minded bint who keeps track of all the expenses in Tracey's division, comes over to congratulate her: "My, who would ever have thought! Tracey, you use your heritage _so_ well; I never would have expected a _Slytherin_ to be the greatest champion for Muggles so grievously harmed by wizards! Not even a Slytherin with a Muggle parent, like yourself. I'm quite proud."

"Er, thanks," Tracey says. She hadn't really been listening to Abbott – she never does – but when Miles draws away from her and says, "Trace? Is it true?" in a tone indicating shock and, yes, betrayal, Tracey suddenly realizes what Abbott must have said.

So she does the first thing she can think of: She Apparates to Nott Manse, where Theodore is living essentially on his own these days, and hammers on the door until a house-elf opens it and she falls inside.

Theodore rushes into the hall as she's picking herself up. "Tracey, what is it?" he asks, extending a hand to help her right herself, and then leading her into the sitting room just off the hall. "What's the matter?"

"He knows," Tracey says. For some reason, she can't stop shivering. "Fucking Abbott let the cat out of the bloody damned bag and now he knows."

"Who knows what, Tracey? Who – oh." Theodore falls silent as he figures it out. "Bletchley figured out about your dad, did he?" He strokes Tracey's shoulder for a few before something else apparently strikes him, and he stands up abruptly. "Did he seriously throw you out? Did that bastard _actually_ \- oh Merlin, Tracey, I'm so sorry. Just say the word and I'll, I'll-"

"I ran out," Tracey says, finally finding her voice. "I didn't want to wait to hear what he might – well. Yeah."

"If you don't know that he won't react poorly to this news then you probably shouldn't be dating him, Tracey," Theodore says, sitting down heavily.

"Engaged," Tracey corrects. She really doesn't know how to describe what's going on with her: her head feels floaty, but it's not from the drink she'd been having at the party. She's pretty sure that she's processing everything at a much slower rate than usual, and she's finding it hard to attend to even the conversation at hand. Her heart is pounding – she'd hoped that no one would have to find out about her dad ever. Or at least that she'd be able to tell people at her own rate, rather than have them just. Find out.

She looks up to find Theodore looking at her strangely. "Engaged?" he asks.

"Uh. Yeah. Since, oh, a few days ago."

"Congratulations, I guess," he says. "But mostly to him. He doesn't deserve you."

"I love him," Tracey says, frowning at Theodore. How did the conversation get here?

"Then I hope he realizes how lucky he is," Theodore says.

"Theodore – what?"

Theodore sets his mouth firmly and nods slightly before saying, "All I'm saying is, if he doesn't support you after this, he's an idiot and you should not apologize for being who you are."

Tracey gets the feeling that Theodore isn't telling her something. "Theodore – what are you saying?"

"What I'm saying is – oh, fuck it," Theodore says, before swaying forward and cupping his hands behind Tracey's head. He kisses her softly, and when her mouth falls open in shock, he deepens the kiss, gently licking into her mouth and brushing her hair back with one of his fingers.

Coming to herself, Tracey pulls back, blinking rapidly, trying to collect her thoughts. "Theodore – I'm still with him," she finally settles on, before running away from a second man in one night.

+++

When she gets home, Miles is waiting for her. "Tracey," he says, standing up as she goes through the door. "Where were you?"

"Sorting some stuff out," she says, vaguely. "Miles… I-"

"I promise I won't tell anyone," Miles interrupts, walking closer to her.

"Why, because you're ashamed of me?" Tracey snaps, which honestly surprises her. She wouldn't have asked that question if Theodore hadn't said – hadn't done – well. Things.

"What? Tracey, no," Miles says, but his expression doesn't particularly support his words. Tracey can't tell really what he's thinking, but she doesn't get the sense that he feels overwhelming support. But that might just be the Theodore debacle too. "You just obviously don't want anyone to know, you know, given how you ran out and everything. So I thought I'd respect your wishes."

"Sorry, baby," Tracey says, and because she really doesn't want to deal with any kind of conversation anymore, she closes the distance between them with a hug.

+++

Tracey glances down the street, checking for people, before lighting her cigarette with the tip of her wand. "Look, make it quick," she says, funneling the smoke away from Blaise as she exhales.

Blaise rolls his eyes. "Davis, these things take time," he whispers, as he gestures for several people who Tracey has never met before and doesn't particularly plan on meeting again shuffle past her and into a secluded doorway.

"Right, well," she says, and falls silent, because there's the sound of a car going past, tires making that peculiar noise that tires always make when they're rolling slowly over wet tarmac. A Muggle, then – though the Disillusionment on the operation is probably not quite strong enough to deter trained Aurors, or even some highly competent hit witches and wizards, it's definitely not going to be detected by any Muggles. Still, she's silent until she can no longer hear it. "That doesn't mean I have to like it,"

Blaise just nods, so she leans back against the wall, dragging deep on her cig and tries to think about what she could be doing instead of using her position to abet a crime.

Somehow, that means that her thoughts return to Theodore kissing her, as it generally does these days. Only the knowledge that she's currently engaged in a crime that would put her out of a job at the very least, but more likely end up with her cooling her heels in Azkaban for several years, keeps her from punching the wall at the way she just _can't_ shake the memory of his hands tangling in her hair, thumb stroking her cheek. The way he looked at her when she pulled back.

She focuses her thoughts on Miles, on work, on the way that she's honestly always watched more closely than everyone else, probably more due to the fact that she's engaged to a notorious criminal than the fact that she was in Slytherin during school.

Work crosses her mind. However much she might pretend like she got stuck with the job no one wants because she was on the losing side during the War, she actually really loves what she does. Although she's incredibly uncomfortable with her dad's identity, persecuting Wizards who involve Muggles in their crimes helps her deal with the fact of her birth. It's just nice knowing that there are people out there who protect Muggles, because that means there are definitely people out there who would protect her, if things start getting back to where they were during the Dark Lord's reign of terror.

She takes another drag, shifting from foot to foot. These people are taking forever. She's pretty uncomfortable being here.

Actually, she really, _really_ does not want to be here as a front to make what these people are doing look legitimate, using information from her department that isn't really supposed to be shared with the public. She really does not want to do anything to jeopardize her job: it's important, and she she's fucking _good_ at it, given the fact that she has the benefit of having both ties to the Muggle world and to the knowledge of the inner workings of most of the criminal element in Wizarding Britain.

She just doesn't know how to reconcile her work with her personal life. At some point, she's going to have to make a choice, and she just. She doesn't want to make that choice. On the one hand, choosing work would make her leave her fiancé. On the other, choosing her fiancé would put her out of a job that, quite frankly, no one seems to want – the other people on her squad were assigned there, largely against their will.

And that's when she realizes: she's been putting on a front (obviously; she's not actually a pureblood, for example) for ages to fit the image that people who she doesn't particularly want to be associated with have of her, quite possibly to the detriment of other people out there who might be just like her.

She drops her cigarette, snuffing it out with her foot. "I have to go," she tells Blaise.

Two hours later, all of her stuff is packed and waiting at the door of the flat she and Miles share.

+++

"I can't do this, M," she tells him, pressing the ring into his hand when he gets home. "It's too hard to reconcile you with my work, and with the rest of my life."

Miles blinks at her. "Blaise mentioned you bailed earlier," he says, slowly. "He didn't say why. Do I get any say in this?"

"No," Tracey says, sadly. She opens her eyes wide, trying to prevent tears from welling up. "I love you, but… work is important. I hope you understand why."

"I don't like it," he says. "I hope you'll reconsider."

"Just give me time," Tracey says. She leans in to kiss the corner of his mouth before Disapparating to her mother's house.

+++

After Tracey gets back from lunch with Daphne, she finds her mum sitting in wait. "Are you ready to tell me what's going on?"

Tracey sighs, and sits down. "Why didn't you tell me that Dad was a Muggle lorry driver?"

"Oh," Amanda says. "You found out. That… explains a lot."

"But why didn't-"

"Would you honestly have preferred to know?" her mother asks. "Would it have made your life easier?"

"Probably not," Tracey admits, finally, after considering the question for quite a while. "That is, unless I'd known since I was a kid. Then I probably wouldn't hate myself so much some of the time."

"Oh, baby." Amanda folds Tracey in her arms. "I'm sorry. I know I used to selfishly want to protect myself from people finding out, too, but I should have at least let you know when I stopped caring about the fallout."

"Why did you do it?"

"Your dad?"

Tracey nods against her mother's chest.

"I was lonely," Amanda says. "Joshua's father had died a couple of months ago. I really needed to just – get out. I wasn't even thirty yet. I just needed a way to let out all of my frustration with the world, and if it hadn't been sex, I probably would have ended up killing someone and left Joshua without a mother, as well. Your dad was… sweet. I ran into him at a Muggle bar – you know that people like your friend Theodore's mum-" Tracey stiffens at the Theodore's name, but her mother doesn't seem to notice "-they don't particularly like me, and talk moves so quick around here, so I was avoiding the pubs our sort go to. And it just happened. And then you happened, and I'm so glad."

Tracey sort of wants to ask about her sister's father, too, except she really doesn't want to know. "You just slept with a Muggle? Just like that?"

"Trust me, honey; they're better than most people make them out to be."

Tracey groans, interpreting her mother's comment as regarding her father's abilities in bed, but she's feeling better. "I guess."

"Well, you obviously think so," her mother points out. "Look at everything you're doing at work. Crimes against Muggles have decreased _sharply_ since you started your job."

"Yeah, well, that could just as easily be because the war ended," Tracey points out.

"Mmmm. That's also a possibility, I suppose," her mother says.

Tracey is pretty confused by everything, still, because for most of her life, her mother hasn't had a single word to say about Muggles at all. "But you're so – Slytherin."

Amanda lets Tracey go and steps back, grasping Tracey's wrists in her hands. "Sweetie, I know I'm about as Slytherin as they come, so – if it helps you to think of it this way: I had definite needs and I found a way to meet them easily, and with no questions from people I knew."

Which, well. That makes more sense, Tracey supposes. She's the same way: she needed protection, so she found Blaise. She needed friends, so she scorned Theodore. She needed someone to confide in, so she cast an Unbreakable Vow on him and brought him back into her life. She needed peace of mind, so she completely rejected the life she'd been creating for herself. In any case, though – "Thanks, mum," she says. "For this talk."

"Are you going to be okay?" Amanda asks.

"Yeah," Tracey says, because she plans to be.

+++

Apparently Miles's assurances that he wouldn't tell people about Tracey's heritage don't last when they're no longer together, because a month later, the Daily Prophet is asking her if she has any comment on a story that's being released: _Muggle Activism of Previous Slytherin Sycophant Explained: Tracey Davis Not Pureblood!_

Tracey opens her mouth to readily deny everything they say, when she pauses and thinks about what her mum said about Muggles not being so bad, about her dad being sweet for the week or two that he knew Amanda.

Instead, she says, "I am able and proud to confirm that these rumors are, in fact, true."

The mail starts pouring in the next day. She discards most of it without reading, but goes over the letters from her friends:

Daphne's makes her laugh. _Well Tracey, I can't pretend to like this shocking information about your father; after all, you're now both a liar_ and _a half-blood. But then again, this will probably end up being the scandal of the month, so I certainly must afford you respect for finding the perfect way to make your way onto the society pages!_

Draco says, _You know, I learned my lesson during the War, and you're a good sort when it comes down to it. I've obviously always held a soft spot for you – not hexing you for heading the Gobstones club, getting you out of that pub before my crazy aunt came in, always letting you have the first serving of pudding back at the Slytherin table – so let me say for the record that if anyone hurts you for this, just point them out to me and I'll hex their balls off._

At first, Tracey is quite offended by what Blaise says: _Well, I obviously guessed, but you honestly should have kept this under wraps, Tracey. I can't respect your decision to go public with information so damaging to your image. I do hope you understand that I shan't be relying on your services in the field anymore. Best of luck in your future acts of social suicide_. After she considers the implications, however, she smiles: he's given her a proper out to an undesirable situation.

Theodore's letter simply reads, _Davis, you interesting woman, you. Does this mean you'll consider my vow fulfilled? I anticipate receiving many unanswerable questions if you won't!_

+++

She Floos to Theodore's manse on a somewhat-sunny Tuesday.

"I didn't think I'd see you again, honestly," he says, when she stumbles out of the fireplace, but he doesn’t look too surprised to see her there.

By way of answer, Tracey pulls out her wand. "Theodore Nott," she says, quite formally. "I hold your vow fulfilled. You may now speak freely about my heritage."

As she speaks, more sparks – blue this time – drift out of her wand and settle lazily around his hands. The sparks flare purple briefly, then disappear altogether. He looks up at her, and if she didn't know better, she'd swear his eyes were misty. "That hurt a lot less than last time," he whispers.

"I didn't want to see you again," she tells him abruptly, sitting down in an armchair across from him. "You had me all mixed up."

"I'm sorry," he says. "I shouldn't have just – kissed you."

"I can't stop thinking about it," she confesses. "It was. Quite unexpected, honestly."

"How?" he asks. "Honestly, how could you _not_ see that coming a kilometer off?" He laughs. It's self-deprecating. "I've always felt so painfully obvious about my feelings for you."

"Your- really?" Tracey feels quite dumb, as she hadn't really noticed anything. "For how long?"

"Since you stayed at my house fifteen years ago, at least," he admits, looking down at his hands. "Don't worry about it. It's stupid."

Suddenly, so much of Tracey's history with Theodore is explained. "Theodore – your feelings aren't stupid," she says, gently.

"Well, I'm obviously not your type," he points out, and, well, Miles _was_ basically Theodore's polar opposite, but – "So, er, could you do me a favor and pretend I never said it?"

Tracey's temper flares, brief but hot. "No one gets to tell me who my type is," she snaps. "Except for me."

"Tracey, what-" Theodore starts, but it's Tracey's turn to cross the room in three strides and pull him into a long, deep kiss.

+++

Somehow, they find their way to Theodore's bedroom and onto his expansive bed, tumbling over each other until they're stretched out on their sides, facing each other. Theodore tucks a strand of Tracey's hair behind her ear, then leans in to kiss her, softly.

The gentleness of his movements honestly intimidates her, though, so she smirks at him and pushes him on his back, straddling his lap and kissing him hard, slotting her mouth against his and teasing his lips open with light strokes of her tongue.

After several long minutes of kissing, mouths open and moving insistently, Tracey pulls away long enough to sit up and unbutton the front of her robes. "Tonight, Theodore," she says, "We are going to test the validity of your claim that you are not my type."

"Just don't go breaking my heart," Theodore says, his tone light, but the joke falls flat, and Tracey staves off the awkwardness of it with another fierce kiss. Theodore's hands slip inside her robes as he reaches up to steady her, hands on her waist. She rolls her hips against his, propping herself up with one arm and using the other to start undoing his robes as well.

He leans up into the kiss, then flips them over, moving off for a moment to shuck his robes and finish undoing hers. "Tracey – are you sure?" he asks, and she rolls her eyes at him and reaches down to press the palm of her hand against his cock.

"I'm so sure, Theodore," she assures him, and to make herself perfectly understood, she clearly enunciates the traditional protective charm before slipping a knee up between his legs and moving one of his hands to the front of her bra. It's a front-clasp, and he fumbles with the closure for a moment before it falls open. She shivers until he covers one breast with a hand and the other with his mouth, pinching one nipple and flattening his tongue against the other, then sucking it gently into his mouth. "Yes – Theodore – please," she gasps, pushing up into his touch before very deliberately taking his hand and moving it down to her crotch. He gets the general idea and sits up slightly before moving slowly and sensuously down her body, pressing biting kisses along her stomach as he moves, until he is firmly situated between her legs. He pushes them open slightly, then leans in, pushing his tongue inside her briefly, as if for a taste, before flicking it steadily against her clit. She can't help but roll her hips up against his mouth.

He pulls away briefly, and she almost whines, but then he's pushing a long, thin finger inside of her, crooking it forward and slowly moving it in and out, and then another finger joins the first. He moves his mouth back on her, licking up over her clit until she starts shivering from the heady sensation of it all. "Theodore, _please_ ," she gasps, and he presses the flat of his tongue against her clit for a moment before fitting his lips around it and sucking it gently, now slowly scissoring his fingers inside her, and she's _burning_ inside, so much so that her hips lift completely off the bed. He twists his fingers _hard_ and she comes, collapsing back onto the mattress.

After she catches her breath, she pushes his hands away. "Now your turn," she whispers, pushing him onto his back and straddling his legs neatly.

She licks a fat stripe on the underside of his cock, then fits her mouth over the tip, swirling her tongue around it briefly and then sucking it in further. When he groans, she pulls away, and smirks at him and the disappointment on his face before sliding slowly up his body. She pauses when his cock is nestled nice and warm between her breasts, and experimentally pushes her breasts together. His hips roll against her chest, and he gasps, so she drags herself further up until she can kiss him hard. She can taste herself on his tongue, and expects that he can taste the trickle of his precome on hers, and somehow, that thought just gets her hotter.

Now openly smiling at him, she reaches down and grips his cock in one hand, opening herself up with the fingers of her other one. She guides herself slowly down, adjusting to how thick he is as she moves. He's actually adorable right now, his mouth open and his eyes screwed shut as he reaches up to grasp her waist in both hands. She leans down, kissing him softly before whispering, "I want you to watch this." When his eyes open, she sits up again and twists her hips gently, rising up slowly and then sinking back down, reaching up to pinch her nipples with each hand, then run her hands slowly up and down her body. As she rocks up again, she moves one of her hands down to his own chest, and when she twists one of _his_ nipples a little too hard between her thumb and forefinger, his hips snap up against hers.

"Faster now," he moans, and she nods slightly, and then he's rocking his hips up towards hers as she's rolling hers down towards him, and they find their rhythm quickly. She keeps twisting her hips randomly, enjoying the way his mouth opens wide every time she does so.

When he moves one of his hands from her waist to her crotch and presses his thumb up against her clit, though, it's time for her mouth to fall open. "Oh my _fuck_ ," she says, breathing hard. " _Theodore_. Yes, _please, there_."

Theodore laughs, albeit breathlessly. "So close, Tracey," he manages, moving harder against her and smirking when she moans. "Can you come again?"

She nods, briefly, grinding down against his hand and tightening her muscles around his cock. "I need to feel you come inside me," she whispers, hotly, and apparently that's all it takes, because he shouts and then stills, and she pushes hard against his hand one more time before she's coming again.

Utterly spent, Tracey collapses against Theodore's chest, not even letting him pull out. She's way too satisfied now to have any kind of serious conversation, so she just presses a kiss to his cheek, and then one to his lips, soft and gentle, before saying, "Sleep now," and rolling off of him, tucking herself in his side.

He doesn't respond verbally, but he puts an arm around her and tightens it. As she drifts off into sleep, she feels him brush a kiss against her forehead.

+++

When Tracey wakes up in the morning, the sun is slanting through the window onto Theodore's naked body. She rolls over and wakes him up with a kiss.

"Hi," he says, softly.

"Hi," she says. "Theodore – I think we can safely say that you qualify as my type."

Theodore laughs, and pulls her on top of him.


End file.
